Brothers
by Lady-Knight Writer
Summary: Loki was never taken from Jotunheim. Between caring for his younger brothers and trying to rule a broken kingdom without provoking an insane Laufey, he can barely keep up. Establishing diplomatic relations with Asgard is the last thing he wants to do, but the only thing that can save his people. He just hopes no one dies, although that might just be wishful thinking on his part.
1. Remember the Proverb

**[EDITED by aylithe and reposted February 1st, 2015]**

**[EDITED AGAIN by aylithe and reposted February 9th, 2015]**

**Okay, I'm posting the first chapter of the revised version a little earlier than I thought that I would. This is mostly because I want to see if everyone likes the new direction. The writing style is a little more formal, and the story as a whole will be less dialogue-driven. Serious attention will be paid to character development and a "show-don't-tell" method of cultural exploration/world-building. So a quick reminder: the original rules of this story are still in effect. My guidelines (no slash, no explicit/M-rated content, good Loki, and pairings take a backseat to the plot) still stand, but the plot is only loosely developed and only up to a certain point. This story is for you, and I want _you_ to be a part of it. You guys review or PM me your suggestions and what you want to see in the story, and I try my best to write it in. At least make it a challenge for me! **

**Shout-outs to:**

** aylithe, who gave me the honest criticism I really needed to start working the bugs out of my writing. Never have I been so grateful to anyone for not sugar-coating the truth. aylithe has been very kind and helpful to me, and has sacrificed personal time to give me advice.**

**PeaceHeather**** for her constructive review and mini-commentary on the story, which helped me see the readers' perspective. **

**fan girl 666**** and thepheonixandthedragon4ever, for their unwavering support and constructive reviews.**

**Multifaceted Melancholi****c, for reviewing in those first chapters and snapping me back on point with Loki's character. **

**AllieSnow**** and Armand, my lovely guest reviewers who have been keeping up with this story even through all the rocky bits. Thanks, guys!**

**I will put a serious effort into posting a chapter once or twice a week. I know it was more, before, but then I was more focused on meeting a deadline for practice than actually writing a story.**

**Multiple versions of this chapter were actually of Loki's birth, but each version was either clogged up with unnecessary dialogue or tedious in its description. In the end, it didn't contribute to the story or really make for a good opening. So this is what you get.**

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><p><strong>Chapter One: Remember the Proverb<strong>

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><p><em>An intelligent heart acquires knowledge, and the ear of the wise seeks knowledge.<em>

– Proverbs 18:15

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><p>Odin had never seen a jötunn infant before that day. A few children, yes, but not an infant.<p>

He was surprised by its size. It was even smaller than Thor had been— lighter, lacking in the good fat that he should have been born with, and with a cough rattling in his thin chest. The babe he now held in his arms had to be a newborn, and yet, it was alone and abandoned (perhaps for its size, but Odin would not presume to understand the workings of the jötnar). One of the Einherjar had slain an unarmed priest (or at least a jötunn who _seemed_ to be a priest), and the deep, navy-purple frost giant blood had pooled around the corpse and spattered across the babe's swaddling cloth. Odin had strictly told the Einherjar to stay away from the temple, but someone had obviously been in a bloodthirsty rage —they would be punished when he found out who it was. The priest had no weapon at his side, nor ice at his hands, and yet he lay face down against the stone, his chest and torso slit open by an Aesir blade. Odin frowned, lips curling down. Whoever had done this would pay dearly when he found them out. Such savagery was cruel and unnecessary. This was an army, not a band of mercenaries, and they would be soldiers, not butchers.

The babe cried, shuddering and rasping for breath. It was unfit, sickly. The priest's body was so close, and it made no sense to desert the child in such a frequented place as a temple, but Odin couldn't see the fierce jötnar ever being gentle with this frail child.

And then a sudden foolishness overcame him. It was just a silly notion that came to mind, but for a moment, he took it seriously. Perhaps, if he could disguise the child, he could take it back to Asgard, to Frigga. She had been wishing for another babe, but Thor's birth had been so difficult for her. This would be perfect, if the child lived. Odin was sure that it could be nursed back to health. It was not so far gone, yet.

Blood dripped from his empty eye socket —it felt so shockingly hollow and painful that his whole head ached for it— and landed on the babe's forehead. Odin tenderly wiped it away with his calloused thumb, humming softly. This babe felt in his arms as Thor had; the blue skin did not keep him from seeing that it was only an infant, just as vulnerable and innocent as Thor.

Yes. Yes, he would take it back to Asgard, and this small child would be his second heir. And maybe, just maybe, he could raise the child to one day return to Jotunheim and be their catalyst for peace. Raising two would not be harder than raising the one he already had. He would take the babe home and call it his and no one other than Frigga and Heimdall would ever know. Well, and perhaps the healer, Eir. If they had to falsify a pregnancy, Eir could be trusted to keep the matter confidential.

Just as he made the decision and began to turn, he stilled. Old words entered his mind, wisping along in a distant memory of his days as a prince when he was tutored in the writings of Eskarr to his son Magad, the first Asgardian to travel all of the Nine Realms.

_All manner of men and beasts do know better than to take a jötunn child from its place, no matter how alone it might seem. This, my dear son, you would do well to remember, for there is only one thing more terrible in ire than the Deceiver, and that is jötnar bereft of their offspring._

There was more to it, of course, other words that Odin had long forgotten and would never be able to recall, but he_ did_ remember those simpler words of warning. Someone would come back for this child, a sire or a dam, and they would mourn if they found a bloodstained swaddling cloth without the babe that it belonged to. Surely, they would think that the Aesir took it, or killed it. Odin could not have that weight upon his conscience, and he could not tear a child away from its parents.

He looked back down at the jötunn child, so frail and breakable in his hands, and, with no small measure of trepidation, kneeled down and nestled the babe against the priest's still-warm body, wrapping it in the folds of the ornate robes. The babe only wailed more fiercely at being set aside, and Odin winced as the sound pierced his heart. He was a _king_ and he would_ not_ turn his gaze away, he was stronger than that— _oh_.

Odin could not say that he understood much about jötnar —he had never spent time with them beyond the battlefield— and he knew nothing of their culture or of their physiology, but he had seen enough of them with his own eyes to know the meaning of the markings upon their skin. The markings on the babe's forehead were nearly identical to Laufey's. Not a perfect match, but nearly. Odin was intelligent enough to make the connection.

"Grow wise, young prince," Odin said softly, "so that we two might meet one day in peace."

He stroked a thumb against the markings on the babe's cheek. These were very different from Laufey's, more prominent and sharp, and Odin would assume that these were from the child's dam. Whoever she was. He had heard that Laufey had a queen but he had never seen her nor heard tale of her presence on the battlefield. She was either lost or dead. Perhaps by his own hand, but he did not entertain that idea. He did not want to think of any child being motherless.

The babe's cries finally diminished into soft whimpers. Odin, by impulse, leaned forward and pressed a kiss against the infant prince's markings, just as he might have kissed his own son. "Bless you, little one."

And then, with a pain in his heart for turning away, Odin left, but the child's feeble cries would not soon be leaving his mind.

**ooOOOoo**

Farbauti was not queen because she was Laufey's wife. She was queen for her compassion and kindness, and for her strength. She may have seemed meek, but she was a woman of power, and she used that power well. Laufey had always said that that was why people loved her, but she knew what he really meant: _This is why **I** love you. Among other reasons. I have_ _told you this before._

But he had not spoken such words to her in what seemed like an eternity.

No measure of power, though, could quell the fear that twisted in her gut. She had left her newborn with Nál, Laufey's brother, and she trusted Nál, but she could see the temple from the distance and how it crumbled. The Aesir had left, but the city still cracked and fell around them. Had the Casket been left in its proper place, or at least taken with the proper preparations, this wouldn't be happening. Jötunn structures were _strong_. But the energy was gone. Their Relic had been stolen, and the first thing to lose power was the stone itself.

She ran. Her feet splashed in puddles of blood, staining her skin dark with an off-purple. She leapt over twisted bodies, not looking at their faces, not wanting to know if she knew them. Later, she would know, and she would count up the friends she had lost to this pointless war and mourn, but not now. _Not now_.

She needed to find her son. She needed to know that he was alive. Everything else would have to wait.

Nál would protect her son to his dying breath, and that was why Farbauti had left the babe with him. But Nál was no warrior. Once upon a time, he had been a fighter, training as a prince alongside Laufey, but he had not participated in _any_ kind of training for centuries. He was a gentle soul who, whilst brave, could not stomach killing. He didn't even like to hunt. So, yes, he would lay down his life for her son, and he would fight until they killed him, but _his_ fight might not be enough.

There was a reason that she had forbidden him from joining the soldiers, and if Laufey were of his right mind, he wouldn't have allowed it either.

She flew up the temple stairway –too many steps, too many damn steps between her and her child– uncaring that her lungs burned with every breath, and that she felt like collapsing. The temple was, in comparison to the rest of the city, in decent form, but she would not let that fool her. There was blood on the stairs, the vibrant red of Asgardian blood and the dark periwinkle of jötunn blood, and a broken spear. The temple had been invaded and people had died.

_Not my son._

The Asgardians had wielded great power and had almost torn down the city, but the temple was almost whole. It had seen invasion, and death, but not much in the way of damage. The entrance had a deep crack in its forward façade, like a lightning bolt; Farbauti considered it a small blessing.

A single body was splayed face down on the polished floor, surrounded by blood. Odd, that there was only one. Farbauti stepped closer cautiously. The Asgardians had left, but an injured or dying jötunn warrior was its own danger. They were trained to fight, and if this one was still alive he could hurt her if … But, no. There was too much blood. If he was still alive, it was a miracle. Or a curse. If he was alive, then he wouldn't be for long. She couldn't save him.

She was just close enough to make out the exposed heritage marks that climbed up the back of his neck —an odd place for them; most giants didn't have markings on their necks— when she realized who she was looking at.

The air rushed out of Farbauti's lungs so quickly that she had not the chance to scream, and her feet grew as heavy as stones against the floor. It was Nál, the last family that she had left other than her son, and he lay dead against the polished stone. The blood —there was so much blood; just how much did a giant carry?— was half-dry around him, steadily turning into cold, thick paste.

Fear coiled up like a snake, wrapping itself around Fárbauti's heart and squeezing ittight_._

She ran a few awkward paces and nearly slammed against Nál's body as she fell down beside him. Her hands trembled as they pressed against his robes, searching beyond hope for some sign of life. Maybe not Nál's life (no, there was so much blood and the corpse had chilled and gone stiff; there was no hope left for him), but for the tiny, frail creature she had entrusted Nál to protect.

"Please. Please, please, please, no… not my boy… _not _my boy!"

She had lost Nál. She had lost her parents, and who knew how many friends in this battle. She could give up Laufey, if pressed. His madness was consuming and he barely recognized her on most days. But not her boy. She had yet to even give him a name. She would _not _lose him, _no_. No. Not tonight.

Suddenly, there was a rasping cry, something that was so weak and quiet. She couldn't have heard it, shouldn't have— her ears were still ringing from a crack to her head and the noise of battle, but she _did_ hear it.

Farbauti moved over Nál's body. Her legs were shaking too much for her to stand, and her right foot was caught in ties of Nál's robes, but she managed to clamber over his corpse. It was difficult, for he was big, even for a giant— nearly nine feet tall with broad shoulders that so contrasted from Laufey's leaner frame. Farbauti was Halfkind, and couldn't even boast _six _feet. One hand landed in the coagulated blood, and even as it gripped viscous and sticky against her skin, she could not pull back. This was all the balance that she had, even if it was against her good friend's carcass.

As soon as she saw the two gleams of red peeking out from the folds of fabric, Farbauti nearly screamed. Or sobbed. It was all in relief. The tears came either way, and her shortness of breath would not allow any screaming to take place. She fished her son out from his hiding place and cradled the tiny babe to her body, opening her fur-lined coat to slip him inside. Instantly, the babe's mewling was silenced, and he clasped onto a breast to feed. That was good. At least he could eat. She had seen babes too distraught to feed, and they had nearly starved themselves in their distress.

Farbauti let out a few breathless laughs, but it was not in humor. There was relief there, for her son, but the sensation of sick revulsion began to sink in when she realized that she was sitting against her closest friend's corpse. Her skin prickled as she slowly moved away, blood smearing across the floor in her wake. She shuddered at the sight of it. Her father had been a healer and blood had never bothered her before today, not even her own blood, but this was _Nál_, and it was _his_ lifeblood she was coating the stone with.

She looked away —never let it be said that Queen Farbauti was squeamish— and cradled her son inside her cloak. He wriggled under her hold but did not stop feeding. He was too hungry. Too tired. He had been lying here for quite a while, but a restless babe would not sleep unless exhaustion forced it to. Now, though, he would sleep. Safe in his mother's arms, he would find respite.

Tears still dripped down Farbauti's cheeks. Her bottom lip quivered, and she trembled. This was half the reason why Laufey could never stand to see her cry. Or, at least, that was what he told her. That the way she shook was unnatural, and it always reminded him of the elder folk whose limbs could not stay steady and spines could not hold their heads upright. It looked wrong. But Farbauti's thoughts did not remain on Laufey. She curled into herself, lying down on the floor without caring for the cold or the discomfort of the position or the fact that her shoulder and cheek immediately became sticky with smears of Nál's blood. She only wanted to hold her son, feel his heartbeat, convince herself that, out of all the people who had died today, her son _lived_.

"My boy… my boy…." Her fingers clenched against her own cloak, feeling the tiny child concealed within, feeling his warmth. They were the people of the ice, but warmth still meant life. "You should be… _shall_ be…"

Her eyes strayed to Nál. She remembered something, a story that had faded into the depths of memory, from the days when she and Nál were childhood friends and Laufey had been a youth trying to impress her. Nál had told her something, just a silly little thing, trying to spark up conversation and stave off the boredom of being snowed in during Deep Winter.

_"I shall have a son, Fárbauti, a brilliant son, and I know exactly what I shall name him."_

"… Loki."

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><p><strong>So… I need to write a new summary for this story. I really, really need to, but heck, this story is gonna cover so much ground and so many different story arcs, how in the world do I summarize it? Aaaah!<strong>

**OK! I have no editor, so that leaves you guys! I'm trusting you to find my mistakes and suggest ways to make this chapter better. **

**Mythology Fun Fact: _Nál_ is actually just Laufey's "spare" name. Most Norse characters do have more than one name that they're referenced by, and this is Laufey's.**


	2. The Councel of Gunnlod

**I'm very happy with the way this is turning out, and if the response I got was anything to go by, then so were a few of my readers. Very nice.**

**ANNOUNCEMENT! The brilliant aylithe has agreed to edit my chapters before I post them, so that means that I won't have to be reposting edits of the same chapter five times anymore. Thank goodness. Go check out aylithe's stories! They're great reads and have inspired me _so_ much, I can't even begin to tell you.**

**Notes: … Um… I guess, maybe, warning for dead people? I probably should have put some kind of warning in the last chapter, because there was plenty of blood and death. This chapter isn't nearly as morbid. More… emotional. Plus, Laufey is crazy, and crazy people do crazy stuff. Somebody might count that as disturbing. And mentions of domestic abuse.**

**Also, here's just a quick rant that might teach you something about Norse mythology. In the mythology, Jotunheim was _not_ a giant hunk of ice like in the Thor movie. It was one of the richest landscapes in the whole mythology, featuring mountain ranges, forests, and tundra. _This_ is the Jotunheim that I'm writing about. The only Realm in mythology that was actually ice in majority was Nilfheim.**

**Thank you to everyone who followed and faved. Replies to reviews are at the bottom of the page.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing and I never shall, for I am naught but a lowly college student.**

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><p><strong>Chapter Two: The Counsel of Gunnlod<strong>

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><p><em>A joyful heart is good medicine, but a crushed spirit dries up the bones.<em>

– Proverbs 17:22

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><p>There was no ceremony for Nál's death. The bodies had to be disposed of in mass, and there was no special treatment for a corpse, not even that of the king's brother— it was simply the way of their people. No one, no matter their blood, was more special than another was. Farbauti honoured Nál in her own way, despite that he had not received the proper ritual. It was… surreal, for lack of a better word. How could he be dead if his body was not sent off with a mourning song and a crown of silver leaves upon his head? How could he be gone if his kin had not said goodbye?<p>

So they pushed the bodies into the River Ifing, and it carried them down, deep into the ground. They would decay in the depths, just as their ancestors had.

Farbauti watched. All she wanted was to turn and run, but she stood firm. She was the queen, she had to be there beside the people. When they had all gone home, then, and only then, would she leave. She did not want to stay, but she had to. For them. It was an unwritten rule that she would follow. If Laufey were… of sound mind, he would have been there with her, and that might have eased the pain, but she did not even have him. He was back in Gastropnir, most likely screaming nonsense, completely unaware that his brother was dead, and that he had a son.

The passing of the bodies lasted for far too long. Corpses were rolled in, not too many at a time or they would block up the river and slow progress even more, so it was an enduring process that persisted for nearly the whole day. Farbauti was only grateful that the river had not iced over. Making ice was easy for jötnar. Breaking it was _not_ as easy, unless you were a mage with the ability to reverse the magic. Farbauti herself did hold some skill with magic, but she knew children with more practice than herself, so she did not think of it as anything to brag about. It had gotten her out of trouble a few times when she was younger, but since she married Laufey, she had not had the time nor the need to pursue magecraft.

As the procession stretched through the day, Farbauti caught glimpses of faces she knew. They would bob up above the water's surface before the rapids pushed them back under. She saw a shock of bright red hair, so bright that it was nearly orange, and she had to swallow a scream. It was Iárnvidia; it had to be. Farbauti had always been jealous of the giantess's hair. Iárnvidia had made it a jest, saying that her husband had only loved her for her coloring, but Farbauti had never seen a more devout pair.

She wondered if Iárnvidia's husband had died as well. He would not manage well without her, and it might be a mercy if he had passed on. Farbauti could hardly bring herself to hope he had met an end, however, when she remembered their child. A little girl, Angrboda, with hair as bright as her dam's.

There were too many familiar faces. She had to stop watching. She turned her eyes to the opposite bank of the river, beyond which was the first forest that made up the _Eddas_. There were monsters lurking there, creatures that had featured in the stories that frightened her as a child. She could see some of those creatures —wolves, she guessed— waiting at the edge of trees, no doubt attracted by the smell of blood and death. She could see flashes of fur, and she imagined that one might bolt out to snatch a body from the water. Impossible, though. If a wolf or any other creature tried to dip into the water, the current would pull them down and drown them. The River Ifing was treacherous.

Only when everyone else began to leave and there was barely a glint of sunlight left did Farbauti return home. The guards that flanked her were as tired as she was, and she sent them off of a quick word of thanks and nothing more. She wanted to hide. The day was turning to dusk, and she was exhausted. She would go back to her quarters, back to Loki, and she would wash her hands of any queenly duties for the rest of the night.

Some part of her, the part that still, somehow, believed that this was all a dream and that she would wake up to find that the war had never happened, expected to meet Laufey on the way back, or even at the door. But he would not be in the halls, nor at the door, and he most certainly would not wait for her in their rooms.

She had not shared a room with Laufey since his madness turned to violence. He had hit her, twice, and she had feared for the child in her womb. As far as anyone could tell, he had not noticed her absence, and Farbauti was not sure if that was a blessing or a curse. She wanted her husband to remember her, but she wanted to keep Loki safe.

_It seems that I cannot have both._

The giantess who had stayed behind to watch over Loki was a mother of four, and the moment she saw the queen, she knew to hand Loki over without question or comment. She knew the look of a frantic dam. Farbauti took Loki, and the giantess left without a word. Farbauti's nerves were frayed, and her patience was long gone. She wanted no one other than her son.

It had become obvious, especially since the final battle, that there was something terribly wrong with Loki. It was not so unusual for jötunn children to be born underweight, but those infants quickly made up for what they did not have. Loki did not. He remained slight and fragile, and there was a rattle in his chest when he breathed that sounded like water in his lungs. He was free of that illness, but that was no comfort to Farbauti. She had seen babes survive watered chests, but this was something that she did not understand, and she had no idea if he would recover.

The Deep Winter was coming, and without the Casket, the power reserves would be spent before the first real cold set in. As he was, Loki would not survive.

"Loki, my dear, you must be strong," Farbauti said, ordering him with the firm tone she usually reserved for addressing the court. Her usually soft Northern accent thickened in her distress. "You must be strong… _please_."

**ooOOOoo**

It was Gunnlod, an old Halfkind healer, who dared to seek out the mourning queen. She would have preferred not to disturb Farbauti –to disturb a new dam was not wise– but she had heard from the giantess who watched over Loki that Farbauti seemed unwell, and that was enough to stir concern

Gunnlod had been present for Nál's birth and when they sunk him into the River Ifing, like a mother would for her son. She had scolded Laufey and Nál for their trouble making as children, healed their hurts, and spoke comfort to them when the weight of the world pressed against young minds. She had even given Laufey advice as to how to court Farbauti, much to his chagrin. She was the closest thing that those two cretins had to a mother (as far as they could remember), and she had filled the role well. Many had told her that it was not her place to raise the princes, even if their dam was dead, but King Ymir had not objected. Even if he had, she would not have abandoned those boys. _Her_ boys.

But now one was dead, and the other insane. She could do nothing for Laufey, so she tended to Farbauti. And Loki. How she longed for Laufey to see Loki. But it was impossible while Laufey was mad, and dangerous. There was no point in showing the babe to Laufey if he would not even comprehend that Loki was his son. Hel, he could not even comprehend the passing of time.

Gunnlod moved cautiously into Farbauti's quarters. She had seen many new dams become almost feral in defense of their children, and the current circumstances made Farbauti a prime candidate for such behavior. She was exhausted, emotionally and physically, and the fear for her child, who had come so close to death and was still ill, was now her first concern. Gunnlod would think twice before sneaking up on the woman.

Furs were spread across the floor, and many heaped into a pile close to the fireplace where Farbauti lay. Cradled in an arm with his head lying on the crook of her shoulder was Loki. The boy's breaths were shallow and quick, catching in his throat. Gunnlod sighed and shook her head. She was far too familiar with that sound.

One of Gunnlod's wrinkled hands reached down and clasped Farbauti's arm. Her fingers were curled and stiff with the effects of age, but still gentle. Years ago, she had done something similar when Farbauti had been preparing for her wedding. Farbauti had been so nervous, and at some point, she had to remind the poor girl to breathe. But Gunnlod had been as firm as a rock, steady and unwavering by her side. _"It is not as if you go to marry a man you do not know,"_ she had said._ "He loves you. And he will be good to you. If he is not, I shall beat him with my cane."_ Farbauti had laughed at that.

"Gunnlod."

The healer kneeled further down so that she could lean on Farbauti's shoulders. She was old, and her knees could not hold her without some other support. "Yes?"

"Laufey is not being good. You must beat him with your cane now."

Gunnlod chuffed in amusement. "You remember that?"

With a crooked smile, Farbauti tilted her head back to look Gunnlod in the eye. "It was not that long ago. And I laughed until I cried."

"But you have grown so much since then, and if I remember correctly, you were crying before I said a word." Gunnlod moved to sit at Farbauti's side. She brushed the back of her hand across Loki's temple and smiled. "He is beautiful."

Pursing her lips, Farbauti shook her head. "He breathes as though his chest is watered."

Gunnlod leaned closer, examining Loki. She brushed her palm against Loki's bare chest, trying to feel out the rattling that she could hear every time he took in air. His heartbeat fluttered against her fingers, erratic and weak, and his breaths were uneven. She pulled her hand back and saw the way his skin twitched, as though just underneath, there was a moth fluttering to escape. His heart labored to keep him alive.

Farbauti noticed the healer's distress. "Is there nothing we can do for him?"

With a grimace that deepened her wrinkles, Gunnlod said, "The medicine is running out already, and there are those worse off than Loki. We cannot spare it."

Farbauti very rarely took advantage of her rank as queen. With power came responsibility, after all. She had learned that she was a servant of her people, the benefits of royal life aside. The people came first, and she would never steal food from their mouths or their children from their sides (as was the old way of collecting servants), and she would most certainly not take away the medicines that they so dearly needed. It was the duty of the healers to prioritize and make the difficult choices. Most healers were like Gunnlod: ranking the severity of the injury or sickness above the patient's status, even if that patient was as important as Loki. Farbauti could overrule Gunnlod's decision if she were desperate enough. She was the queen, after all. It was a temptation to rule against Gunnlod's judgment, and for Loki… What would a mother not do for her child?

_No. Stop it. He is Laufey's son— he will be strong. Gunnlod is wise. She knows better than me._

"Keep him warm," Gunnlod ordered, stooping further to adjust the furs around Farbauti's body. She noticed the dark shadows under the young queen's eyes and frowned disapprovingly. "Your son's birth has made you weary. You should have rested."

"It has been three weeks." _And I could not rest today. I had to say goodbye to Nál._

"There was a battle, and you birthed him early. You must take time to recover, my queen."

Loki coughed, wheezing and gasping to catch the breath he had lost. Farbauti pulled him closer against herself. Fear seemed to constantly be pressing against her. Fear for Loki's health, fear for her husband, fear for the realm. Farbauti was not used to being afraid. Not like this. Laufey had always protected her, and when he was forced to leave her side, he left Nál in his place. Now, neither were there for her. She had not been so alone since… Hel, she could not recall.

Farbauti ran her fingers over the soft tuft of silky black hair on Loki's head, comforting herself. "Is there _nothing_ you can do for him, Gunnlod?"

"The power is out, and most of my equipment is useless. But… this boy is the closest I will ever have to a grandchild, Farbauti. I will _not_ let him die."

Farbauti saw a familiar gleam of determination in Gunnlod's eyes. Gunnlod was, by nature, stubborn. In a good way. It made her the best of healers— the one who would not let go of a failing patient. Farbauti was sure she would not let go of Loki, either. Gunnlod had hardly seen the boy, but it was obvious that she already loved him.

"How is Laufey?" Gunnlod asked.

"Have you not seen him?"

"Nay. This is the first time since the battle that I have had a chance to leave the wounded, and I wanted to see Loki." Gunnlod plucked up the poker on the mantle and used it to turn the embers in the fireplace, reigniting the failing flames. "So, how is he?"

"Worse than before. He did not recognize me. I showed him Nál's body, and he…" There was a twitch at Farbauti's lips and a sting in her eyes, but she would not cry. She was tired of crying. "He did not know his own brother, Gunnlod. He did not know _Nál_."

It was ridiculous. Gunnlod heard the words, understood them, but they sounded wrong. Laufey and Nál were always together. Always. Even in the early years, before Nál was born, Laufey had seemed incomplete. Only with Nál nearby was he himself. Of course, that would never happen again. Nál was gone. That was such a strange thought. Gunnlod was not sure when she would accept that Nál was dead, but it would be a while yet. She still expected him to be just around the corner, or to come to the healers' hall and comfort the ill children, as he so liked to do.

But that was beside the point. Nál was dead, and there was nothing she could do about that; now she needed to focus on Laufey and Loki.

"Is there _anyone_ he recognizes?

"Sometimes he recognizes members of the council or one of the servants, enough to call them by name, but he…" Farbauti paused, searching for the right words. When she found them, they fell flat. "He responds violently."

This, Gunnlod understood. Thus far, Laufey's symptoms had not been consistent to any illness of the mind that she knew of. Or, at least, none that Laufey could have. She had seen older folk falter in their memories and forget their own kin, but Laufey was not nearly old enough for that, nor did he display any other signs of that particular sickness. Violent outbursts, however, she had seen in many cases. It certainly didn't narrow down the choices by much, but it was a clue, and that was more than she had before.

"… Has he seen Loki, then?"

"No. I doubt he even knows that I was pregnant, and I could not risk bringing Loki to him afterwards. He hit the chambermaid yesterday, and I was afraid that he might…"

"Ah." _Of course. _Gunnlod tugged on Farbauti's hand, attempting to urge the younger woman to her feet. "Come. We shall see if we can bring the king back to himself for long enough to meet his son."

Farbauti balked. "_What_? But, he—"

The look Gunnlod gave her allowed for no argument. "We must at least try, my dear."

Slowly, Farbauti adjusted her hold on Loki and began to sit up. A sneer was curling across her lips, changing her beautiful face into something twisted and not at all like her. _Feral,_ Gunnlod thought, recognizing the signs of a new dam defending her offspring. Gunnlod quickly —or as quickly as she could with her bad knees— stepped back. She had seen new dams attack at the slightest provocation and draw blood from anyone who dared come to close to a babe without permission. Farbauti was not nearly so far gone as that, but Gunnlod would not be taking any chances. The young queen's name meant 'cruel striker' for a reason. If Farbauti lashed out, it would be quick and clean, and Gunnlod would most likely end up with a snapped neck or crushed esophagus.

"Gunnlod," Farbauti began, her voice low, "I love my husband, but I will not put my son in harm's way for… for _this_."

Gunnlod swallowed thickly, taking another step back. "Do you not wish for your husband to return to you?"

Farbauti glared and bared her teeth, displaying the sharper canines that only Halfkind had. "How _dare_ you?"

"Farbauti, listen to yourself—"

"You know _nothing_!"

"Loki!"

The name was more effective than a physical blow could have been. Farbauti blinked at Gunnlod, then looked down at Loki, who was perfectly still in her arms and half asleep.

"_Oh_," she whispered, sinking down to the floor. In fear that the young queen might faint, Gunnlod rushed to support her, only to have Farbauti fling her one free arm around her neck and begin to cry.

"I'm sorry," she sobbed, pressing her face against the crook of Gunnlod's neck, "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to…."

"Hush dear, I know," Gunnlod soothed, brushing her hand through Farbauti's tangled, unkempt hair, mindful that Loki was resting between them. She ignored Farbauti's lapse in speech. The girl had worked so hard to tame her accent, and Gunnlod knew it was embarrassing for her when her tongue slipped. "This is the effect of birthing. You cannot help it. I know."

Farbauti took shuddering breaths, trying to quell her own tears. "We… we should go to Laufey."

"Are you sure?"

"No," Farbauti admitted, shrugging. She shifted to look down at Loki, who had discovered the tassels of Gunnlod's scarf and was taking great pleasure in chewing on them. Farbauti smiled. "But I want my husband back."

* * *

><p><strong>I'm so sorry that this update is so late, but college is a nasty, ill-tempered creature with no mercy. Here are the review replies!<strong>

**Lady****: Thank you, thank you. It's good to know that you like the change. And we'll definitely be seeing plenty of Loki's magic, and his parents.**

**Armand****: Armand! You're here for the revised version! I knew you would stick with me. I'm glad that you like the characters and the writing style.**

**PeaceHeather****: The original version of this fic will be incorporated into the revision. You'll see a lot of the same scenes and dialogue, but they'll be much, _much_ better.**

**Guest1****: Thank you.**

**fantasiedreamar****: Ask, and you shall receive. A whole new chapter posted for your reading pleasure.**

**Guest2****: I'm glad.**

**Nancy2013****: It _was_ Loki, Odin just didn't kidnap any little jötunn childrens. This is an AU on the idea that Odin simply made a different decision at that moment.**


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